


neglected

by flirtingwithtrackers



Series: tumblr drabbles [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beards (Facial Hair), F/M, Mild Smut, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bellamy lets his hair grow out while clarke is gone</p>
<p>or, the one where clarke comes back and wants to feel bellamy's beard between her thighs, k bYYYYE</p>
            </blockquote>





	neglected

**Author's Note:**

> written for [kyngbellamy](http://kyngbellamy.tumblr.com) and based on her prompt: "With Clarke gone Bellamy doesn’t really care anymore about how he looks so he gets longer curly hair and a beard and when Clarke comes back she’s laughing about him and his beard but she loves it secretly and doesn’t want him to shave it off (coz she wants to feel that scruff between her legs!! I did not say this did I?)"
> 
> hope you like it, darlings :))))

A few days after she returns, after a warm welcome and only a little animosity from Bellamy that soon melted into relief, Clarke feels comfortable enough to make fun of his beard. In the few months she was gone, Bellamy took up the role of leader of the delinquents almost seamlessly—demanding a spot on the Council if the delinquents were to stay in Camp Jaha, fighting the Chancellor every chance he got, reminding them they don’t know how everything works on the ground, begrudgingly agreeing with her when she actually had _some_ good ideas—all the while growing out his beard, whether intentionally or not. (Octavia has a few theories, but Bellamy shuts her down long before they leave her lips.)

Octavia still tugs on his long, black locks, which have also gone unattended, whenever she walks past. Clarke laughs at the scowl that quickly takes over Bellamy’s face as he reaches over to tug on one of her braids. She still has terrifying war paint slathered on her face—probably because it scares half the camp into scurrying out of her way whenever she walks by—but Octavia’s face still splits into a wide grin as she continues walking through camp and away from them, Lincoln trailing behind.

Clarke has to admit it’s not a bad look, the beard that’s just a little past scruff and the long curls that he’s constantly pushing back and away from his face with a big, calloused hand. It doesn’t stop her from cutting it the first chance she gets though, pushing him down into chair and telling him to hold still. He grumbles, but Clarke doesn’t miss his small smile when she runs her fingers through his hair, gently pulling out the tangles. She doesn’t say anything about the beard, only brings up a soft palm to cup his cheek later when she’s inspecting her work, making sure his haircut is even, fascinated by the not so terrible scratch of his facial hair against her skin. 

Neither of them say anything when she sneaks into his tent that night, only the sound of Bellamy making room for her on his makeshift bed as she climbs in next to him audible. Everything isn’t forgiven, but it’s enough to have her in his arms for now, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair as they slowly drift to sleep. Clarke’s eyes are closed, her breathing almost evened out, when she mumbles into his pillow— _I missed you_.

She feels his scruff rub against her cheek as he presses a light kiss to her temple.

+++ 

He finally shaves his beard and Clarke immediately pecks his cheek, making him smile. He looks younger clean-shaven, no longer dirty or covered in blood like the first few months on the ground now that camp is more stable, more secure. She loves being able to see all the freckles on his cheeks and face, the constellations marking his skin. Clarke doesn’t think to mourn the beard until that night, when Bellamy’s trailing open-mouthed kisses down her stomach.

She misses the light scratch of his facial hair against her skin, how it burned against her neck, how it tickled when he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. But now, as his hands grip the underside of her thighs and his nose nuzzles into the crease of her thigh and hip, Clarke aches for the roughness against her inner thighs, the soft pink marks against tender skin in the morning. Her head falls back against the bed when Bellamy licks her, a broad swipe up her swollen sex that lessens the throbbing need within her.

Her face grows impossibly red as she tries to imagine the coarse hair of his beard between her legs, whether it would tickle or bite into her delicate skin, a harsh contrast to the warm, wet drags of his tongue. Her fingers grip tightly into the furs underneath her as Bellamy runs his tongue up and down her labia, his fingers holding her open to him. She moans when he finally gives her clit attention, his lips closing around it. He groans in response, looking up at her with dark eyes.

Her fingers move to tangle into his even darker curls, her nails raking appreciatively along his scalp. She closes her eyes and remembers the first time he kissed her, how the feel of his lips against hers—the slight itch of his facial hair—lingered even after he left with a big smile on his face. Clarke bites her lip, struggling to stay quiet.

She’s out of breath when she speaks, having to take pauses between words. “So, your beard…” Bellamy stops, pulling away. He looks at her with a raised brow, pushing her to continue if only so he’ll put his mouth back on her. She squirms a little. “You shaved it.”

He doesn’t move, only looks at her as he drags the tip of his index finger up and down her slit. “Yeah, why are you thinking about this now?” he asks, looking fondly exasperated. Bellamy nips the inside of her thigh when she doesn’t answer him, a big smug smile stretching across his face at the little yip.

“Nothing,” she says quickly, shifting her hips closer to him in a vain attempt to get things back to how they were a few moments ago before she opened her big mouth. 

“Come on, Clarke,” he whispers into her skin. He keeps eye contact as he lowers his head to press a wet kiss to her clit. “What is it?” He smiles again when she whines and Clarke has to stop herself from kicking him. Bellamy raises his hand to his lips, wetting the pad of his thumb before settling it over her clit to rub maddeningly slow circles. Clarke groans when he blows on her sex, the sensation sending goosebumps up her chest. His eyes glint playfully, “What was that?”

She closes her eyes, trying to catch her breath. “It was a good look,” she manages, her voice strained with frustration and arousal. She almost sobs when one of his fingers dips into her cunt. Bellamy stops halfway, looking up at her expectantly. “Okay, I just… I was thinking it would have felt nice…” Clarke stops there, a flush spreading up her chest. It climbs up her neck as Bellamy just looks at her. She thinks he’s going to keep torturing her—make her say it—but he relents, dipping his head to suck her clit into his mouth as he presses his finger deeper into her.

+++ 

Clarke doesn’t fail to notice that he doesn’t shave the next morning and ignores the way she raises an eyebrow at him before he leaves their tent. She doesn’t regret telling him at all, even when her thighs are a little raw from the scrape of his stubble, and instead revels in the pleasant sting as he presses soothing kisses to the angry red marks afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com) :))


End file.
